


Venus in Furs

by Khryns



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Femme Crowley, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Getting Together, He/Him pronouns for Crowley, I mean not exactly but for tagging purposes I guess, Lingerie, M/M, Other, Thirsty Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khryns/pseuds/Khryns
Summary: Aziraphale really shouldn't have been as surprised as he had been, all things considered.Over millennia, he'd seen Crowley's manner of dress and presentation swing between masculine and feminine, and all the stops in between, and some definitely outside, after all.





	Venus in Furs

Aziraphale really shouldn't have been as surprised as he had been, all things considered.

Over the millennia, he'd seen Crowley's manner of dress and presentation swing between masculine and feminine, and all the stops in between, and some definitely outside, after all1. And he had worked alongside Crowley in his Nanny get up for a good six years, too. But for all that there had certainly been something naughty about the Nanny, all in all, it had actually been a much more conservative manner of dress than Crowley's usual fare2. Now, however…

His palms felt definitely sweaty as he watched Crowley enter the bookshop.

The heels, short boots with little silver chains on them, were much taller, for once, adding vertiginously to Crowley's already considerable - especially when compared to Aziraphale's - height. The high waisted skirt, on the other hand, was tighter and considerably shorter, allowing full view of the top lace band of black, but sheer, stockings. The stocking covered legs lacked the usual hair, which Aziraphale would usually find a pity, but nonetheless helped to make the delicate embroidery in the calf area - flowers and snakes, how cheeky - stand out.

A deep grey, low cut silk blouse, and rugged leather jacket, topped the ensemble. Crowley had also seen fit to let his3hair grow much longer than he had in recent memory, with it falling in perfect waves past his shoulders, and downed much darker lipstick than he had as Nanny - almost black, but with a still noticeable redshift. 

"New look for a new decade?" Aziraphale asked, with forced cheer, once he had finally been able to regain the power of speech. It had been long enough for Crowley to cross over the bookshop to his side and offer a raised eyebrow - plucked and deadly sharp - in greeting.

"Just experimenting, for now," Crowley answered, and Aziraphale was oddly glad he hadn't seen fit to change his pitch. He'd grown rather fond of it with time. Crowley leaned forward on his elbows over the till, his top loose enough to afford a clear view of his thin chest and - was that a bra? "Do you like?"

"You always look lovely, my dear," Aziraphale said, faintly, aware that looking down one’s cleavage was horridly impolite, but enable to stop himself. Crowley’s chest hadn't received the same treatment as his legs, and Aziraphale could see a faint dusting of red hair between the red lace cups. A thin chain with an apple charm hung between his breasts. For the first time since he'd adopted the fashion, Aziraphale felt as if his bowtie was strangling him.

Crowley tilted his head to the side, contemplative.

"Wasn't going for lovely with this one," he said, and had his voice always been so... Suggestive? Probably, he was a demon after all.

"Oh no?" Aziraphale finally made his eyes leave the sight before him, going to Crowley's face as was proper. Idly he noted some darker shade had been applied under his cheekbones, making them look even more wickedly sharp. Aziraphale tried to guess whether Crowley had decided to present a little younger than usual. It was always hard to tell with the glasses, big round ones, more delicate than his last pair. Aziraphale himself had never bothered to mess with his corporation’s apparent age, with the notable exception of his time as Brother Francis. But Crowley did seem to enjoy playing around with it, adjusting to whatever was most in vogue in society and aligned with his objectives. 

Crowley only hummed noncommittally, straightening up, before asking, casually, "So, dinner?"

*

Dinner was excruciating.

Aziraphale was quite aware that, even when Crowley used his more masculine clothes, the both of them drew quite a few looks when they went anywhere together. Eyes would go from one to the other as if wondering what someone like Crowley would be doing with someone like him 4. Now, however, was as If the eyes didn't even bother move over Aziraphale. In fact, they seemed to often do a very specific trajectory, up to Crowley's face and then down, down , down those endless legs. Not many managed to make their way up again.

In the restaurant, it was the same. Crowley's usual sprawl was replaced with an indolent but inviting lounging, with his legs crossed to the side of the table, as they didn’t fit under due to the heels. This served to showcase them to their fullest extent, the heels causing his thighs to sit at such an angle that the skirt barely covered the essentials 5. 

Unbidden, Aziraphale found himself wondering what that skirt was covering, precisely. He knew, from a very drunk discussion a few centuries back, that Crowley preferred to make an effort, and that though he enjoyed switching it up every now and then, he usually stuck to outdoor plumbing 6. But, surely, with the tightness of that skirt, and the way he was crossing his legs, there was no room for anything of that nature? 

Aziraphale barely tasted any of the food during dinner, a rare occurrence indeed, and if Crowley noticed he was flustered and even more absent minded than usual, he didn't say anything. He didn’t let the conversation lag, Aziraphale too good at social niceties, had them too ingrained, to let silence rule, he just had no idea what they could possibly be talking about. Maybe about a new book. Maybe about visiting the beach someday. Regardless, he was aware enough to notice the slight look of amusement in Crowley's face during the whole of dinner, and also to not let the the ensuing desire to blush come to fruition.

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how they made home from the restaurant, nor why he invited Crowley inside for a nightcap afterwards7, but next thing he knew they were sat in his backroom, the wine in his cup a darker, richer vintage of port than the usual reds they went for, the sweetness coating his tongue almost cloying in the strange hyperaware state he found himself. Crowley had taken the settee as usual, though, unusually, he’d taken his shoes off and laid himself with them propped over the arm of the settee nearest Aziraphale. Aziraphale could see the faint glimmer of scales on the insole of his slender feet, which were capped with nails in the same redshift black as his lipstick and the near talons in his hands. He swallowed, feeling the port thick as syrup in his mouth.

“Are you ok, Angel? You’re not nearly as talkative as usual, today,” Crowley asked after an unusual lull in conversation.

“Oh, yes, perfectly fine, my dear. I must be a little distracted today. Please forgive me.” Aziraphale fought to keep his eyes averted. From this angle, if Crowley chose to uncross his legs, Aziraphale would have a direct view up his skirt.

Crowley frowned slightly and made a noncommittal grunt. Now that he had his glasses off, Aziraphale could see that his yellow eyes were lined with dark kohl, much in the same manner he’d used during their brief stint in India. Aziraphale had always found it a very fetching practice, and been slightly disappointed when it hadn’t caught on in the same way across the rest of the world.

Out the corner of his eye, Aziraphale watched as Crowley carefully refolded himself on the couch, so he was now leaning forward with his elbows on the settee's arm, suddenly shockingly close to Aziraphale's face8.

"Anything specific distracting you?" he asked, in that sultry tone Aziraphale was beginning to be quite certain_ was_ new.

"Oh, just the usual9," he said, eyes locked on Crowley's lips, specially the little sliver of pink visible beyond the dark of the lipstick.

“Ah, bugger this," said Crowley, with abrupt forcefulness, closing the gap while pulling Aziraphale to him by the lapels, resulting in a rather crushing kiss. Had they been human, the clash of teeth would have certainly resulted in pain and embarrassment. As it were, it hadn’t occurred to either of them this could be the case, as both were too consumed by the fact that it was finally happening to focus on the utter and complete lack of finesse of the kiss.

“This alright, angel?" Crowley asked, an uncountable amount of moments later, after drawing away to kiss down Aziraphale’s neck. Dejectedly, Aziraphale let his hands fall from where they had been quite firmly embedded in Crowley’s beautiful hair. It has been as soft as he had always wondered.

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale said, quite breathless. He became aware that the arm of the chair was digging quite uncomfortably into his stomach. "The position, however could be-"

Before he was finished, Crowley was in his lap, straddling his thighs. Aziraphale was sure the chair hadn't been big enough for that a moment ago. He was saved from thinking more about it by an undulation of Crowley's hips.

"Let me know if I do something you don't like," Crowley said, voice muffled by how his face was still shoved into Aziraphale's neck.

"I'm quite sure that's impossible," Aziraphale absentmindedly murmured back, which, curiously, resulted in something that could only be described as a groan from Crowley.

Other than the frankly marvelous contact, the new position allowed Aziraphale to finally comfortably run his hands over Crowley’s body, which hadn’t been quite possible with the intrusion between them before. His hands ran up Crowley’s back, the silk under his fingers cool and luxurious, the jacket long discarded. It was his turn to groan at the visible shiver that took over Crowley when Aziraphale’s hands found his bare shoulders, his long tresses tickling the back of Aziraphale’s hands. Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss one freckled shoulder, after pulling Crowley’s hair back. Crowley positively whimpered into Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale placed several similar kisses along Crowley’s beautiful shoulders and up his neck. Aziraphale allowed himself to nuzzle the warm place behind Crowley’s ear, and inhale deeply.

Aziraphale had always liked the way Crowley smelled.

It was, undoubtedly, the smell of a demon 10; a base part of him would have identified it as such even without ever meeting Crowley, like an instinct that screamed predator , or perhaps prey . More than once, visiting angels had commented on the lingering scent with displeased looks, disgust etched on their features.

He supposed it was like how some humans enjoyed the smell of gasoline, while others claimed to get a headache from it.

He smelled warm, unsurprisingly, but the dry heat of the desert. There was a hint that he could never quite place, but reminded Aziraphale of the times before electricity, the smell of blown out matches and candles. Underneath, a nuance of freshly cracked roasted black peppercorns. It was a hungry, heady, absolutely enveloping smell, that paired well with pewter whiskey and the darkest of chocolates.

Aziraphale had wondered, time and time again over the centuries, how he tasted. He allowed himself to indulge in this curiosity, licking a discreet stripe of warm skin.

“Oh _fuck_,” Crowley moaned, bucking on Aziraphale’s lap. The motion brought his awareness back from that wonderful spot behind Crowley’s ear. Aziraphale’s hands had wondered to Crowley’s thighs, caressing the stripe of skin between the lace of the stockings and the harsher material of the skirt. Aziraphale couldn't help but pull back to look down where his hands were.

In this position, Crowley’s skirt had ridden up even further, bunching up around his hips. A hint of red, matching the lace bra, was visible between Crowley’s legs. Aziraphale ran a reverend finger over the bulge, luxuriating in the soft texture of the panties. Crowley hissed, bucking towards the touch.

“How ever did you fit this under this skirt,” Aziraphale marveled, half to himself, and was nearly startled when Crowley responded.

“Can switch it, if you want,” he said, breathless. Aziraphale took in with pleasure the ruddiness of his cheeks, the shine of his eyes, the utter, magnificent mess of his hair. The lipstick, miraculously, had not budged.

“No, no,” Aziraphale hurriedly said, pressing his hand more firmly to the cock threatening to spill from Crowley’s underwear. “This is perfect, my dear boy.” Crowley whined again, a sound that was quickly becoming one of Aziraphale’s all time favourite. 

“Can I,” Crowley asked, pawning at the front of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He had diverted himself of his outer layers early in the night, for which he was thankful now.

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale said, with a pleased sigh as Crowley got to working on his buttons. Undressing Crowley, however, proved a bigger challenge. The blouse came off easily enough with minimal input from Aziraphale, revealing the delightful - but also quickly removed - red bra. The position, however, didn’t allow for the removal of his skirt or underwear. With a stroke of inspiration, Aziraphale slid his hands under Crowley’s bottom, giving himself a moment to enjoy the firm flesh he found. “Hold on,” he said, by guise of warning, before standing up, lifting Crowley easily along.

“Ngk,” Crowley said into Aziraphale’s ear, holding firmly onto his bare shoulders, his thighs clamping quickly around his waist. 

It was only a couple of steps to the settee11, but by the time he carefully lay Crowley down on it, the demon looked utter wrecked, his breath coming in short pants.

“Warn a fella next time,” Crowley said, settling himself into the settee with his folded legs spreading wide, the breathless quality of his voice dulling the intended irritation on his voice.

“Will keep that in mind,” Aziraphale said, his attention on the long legs before him. He ran a hand up the one closest to him, his hand running easily over the somewhat slippery texture of the stockings. “May I?” 

“Go ahead,” Crowley said, voice still breathless. Aziraphale hummed in appreciation, moving his hands to the lace band at the top of the stockings. No garter, he noticed. He rolled down the first, then the second stocking, taking his time to appreciate the soft skin unveiled, planting kisses in each new inch revealed. By the time his legs were bare, Crowley’s breaths were coming in fast and harsh. 

“Fuck, angel, _please_,” he babbled, as he had been doing for the last few minutes. Aziraphale smiled, pleased. He let his hands run back up Crowley’s sinful legs, until he reached the bunched up skirt. Crowley slapped his hands away when Aziraphale couldn’t locate the clasp, undoing it himself, and with a frankly mesmerizing undulation of hips, he had it off, making a point to throw the skirt off somewhere behind Aziraphale. 

Which left him in very minimal, straining red satin and lace underwear.

Aziraphale could see a darker patch near the head, and the sight drew a grunt from him. 

“For all that is unholy, will you please _touch me_,” Crowley whined, his hands clenched into fists.

“Certainly,” Aziraphale breathed, before lowering his hands to Crowley’s hips and his mouth to that delightful dark patch. His precaution proved warranted, when he had to hold down Crowley’s bucking hips, least he he hit by them. He let his warm breath drench the already sodden fabric, before running his tongue over satin, the texture novel, the taste bitter and salty and exquisite. 

Taking pity in the incoherent noises coming from Crowley, Aziraphale finally let his cock come free, removing the underwear diligently. Once the underwear was discarded, he allowed himself to take the ruddy erection between his lips, moaning at the warm heft of it in his tongue. 

Crowley positively keened, his hands coming to Aziraphale’s curls, hips straining against the firm hold of Aziraphale’s hands.

“Marvelous,” Aziraphale told him when Crowley dragged him off with desperate hands, until he was settled between Crowley’s legs. He knew the demon must be close, the urgency clear in every line of his body and in the pitch of his moans.

“How are you still wearing trousers,” Crowley complained, before claiming Aziraphale’s mouth with his own. Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to be cross when he heard a familiar snap and found himself instantly bare, not when it meant that his own cock was suddenly being rubbed up against Crowley’s, the drag of skin on skin eased by the left over saliva. Thankfully, Crowley's mouth on his stops Aziraphale's from uttering the reverent "oh God " that is his brain's first reaction to the sensation. Never knew what the blessing would do to a demon in such close proximity.

His attention now drawn to that particular region, he is suddenly aware of how achingly hard he is, and that he is also probably not going to last much longer. He’s just become aware of the fact when Crowley’s snaked between their bodies, taking them both in hand. Their kiss turns sloppy, more breathing the same air, open mouthed, than anything refined. It is glorious.

It only takes a few strokes for Crowley to come, with another keen and a blessing, and Aziraphale’s not long behind, hiding his face into Crowley’s hair with how overwhelming and overpowering the sensation was. 

It’s a few moments before he came back to, realising he should probably roll off Crowley. While his weight won’t hurt the demon, it mustn't be comfortable. The settee obliges, expanding further as he settled by Crowley’s side, a pillow that certainly hadn’t been there appearing under his head. With an afterthought, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, cleaning up the mess they had done on themselves, receiving a faint ‘thanks’ in response from Crowley. 

“So you did think it was more than lovely, then,” Crowley said, after a few moments, when their breathing and heartbeats were back in a more usual range. It took Aziraphale a few moments to place what Crowley was referencing, but he had had millennia of experience with Crowley’s apparent non-sequiturs. 

“Crowley, you're always stunning, you vain thing,” he said, drawing Crowley into his chest and pressing a fond kiss on top of his delicious smelling hair. He can’t help but smile when Crowley visibly preens. Then it hits him, “Wait, did you dress like that for me?”

“Well," Crowley shifted nervously, his hair tickling Aziraphale’s nose. "I noticed, ah. That. You did seem to like the whole, y’know, Nanny get up12.” Aziraphale’s nonplussed by this.

“I like everything you wear, my dearest,” he said, with feeling. He felt Crowley squirming against him.

“Yeah, well,” he said, after clearing his throat. Aziraphale could bet he was blushing. “It worked, didn't it? Couldn’t take my eyes off me tonight,” he added, a clear note of pride in his voice. Aziraphale chuffed. 

“Proud, vain creature,” Aziraphale admonished, though his voice was fond. “But, well. I could let myself look now, couldn’t I?” he said, and, at his tone, Crowley shifted next to him to be able to look at his face, his own oddly naked. Aziraphale caressed his cheek tenderly, before adding, in a more teasing tone. “And there was quite a lot to look at, ah, on display, as it were.” Crowley snorted, resetling on Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Well, bloody finally,” he grumbled, while nestling himself into Aziraphale’s neck. “Been trying to catch your attention for," there he seemed to catch himself, finishing, lamely, a beat too late, "...a while."

"Oh, my dear boy. You've had it. Always.” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck in response. Aziraphale let himself play with Crowley’s hair, alternating petting his head with running his fingers through the silky strands for several minutes. Crowley seemed to enjoy the attention, somehow seeming to become even more boneless under the ministrations. “I do enjoy the longer hair, though. Have always been rather fond of it.”

“Hmm,” Crowley humed, in response, and then what Aziraphale said seemed to sink in. “Really?” he asked, surprised. 

“Yes, well. Reminds me of the garden, truth be told,” Aziraphale admitted, feeling the tips of his ears redden. 

“And that's a good thing?” asked Crowley, drawing back to look at him once more, not sounding convinced at all.

“It's where I met you, isn't it,” Aziraphale said, and was thankfully saved from elaborating by an urgent kiss being pressed to his lips.

* * *

  


[1] Aziraphale, personally, thought he looked lovely in them all, though he had a soft spot for the long hair and the tight pants. [back]  
  
[2] The hip swinging had been considerably diminished, due to the employment of heels, simmering down to a fairly contained sway, which certainly helped matters. [back]  
  
[3] Aziraphale had asked Crowley, once, whether he would prefer Aziraphale to flex his verbs and subjects in the feminine when he talked to Crowley, as the language they had been speaking at the time leant itself to such silliness, and Crowley had been wearing a very traditional and specifically feminine sort of dress. Crowley had given him a very long, and rambling, answer, that aziraphale only halfway managed to follow [a] and finished with a "honestly, I don't much care either way". As such, Aziraphale usually thought of Crowley as a he, if only because they lived in England and thus spoke English, and Crowley tended to present as a man most of the time. Notably, Aziraphale had referred to Crowley as a she during their time at the Dowling's, and wouldn't much mind if that turned out to be the new default.  
[a] in his defense, this was not unusual when it came to Crowley's ramblings, regardless of subject.[back]  
  
[4] In truth, usually something more along the line of "well I guess opposites attract” occupied their minds, though a select few did wonder if there was a new play in town. [back]  
  
[5] More than one waiter stumbled and dropped their tray while passing by their side, distracted. Aziraphale, himself also quite distracted, did not notice this. [back]  
  
[6] It had been quite the explicit conversation, all and all. Crowley had seemed oddly sullen when he left the next day, though Aziraphale had never managed to figure out why. He had, however, seemed positively gleeful when Aziraphale said he also preferred to make that effort, as otherwise incurred in rather awkward conversations with his tailors, and if he stopped, his trousers no longer sat properly. [back]  
  
[7] This actually had an extremely simple explanation. It was because he always wanted Crowley near him. [back]  
  
[8] Aziraphale was vaguely aware that the armchair he currently occupied and the settee hadn’t been quite that chose only a moment previously. Unfortunately, his brain was too addled by the sudden proximity to analyze this further. [back]  
  
[9] This was, strictly speaking, not a lie, as Crowley had occupied his mind and distracted him from his duties for the better part of several thousand years.[back]  
  
[10] Though, that Somebody _and Everybody_, he smelled nothing like Hell had.[back]  
  
[11] Which had, trough no conscious action of either of them, made itself much larger, and wider.[back]  
  
[12] Crowley, after milennia of trying to find out what the angel liked, and which combination would finally elicit enough lust to allow him to touch said angel, had noticed, during their stint caring for young Warlock, Aziraphale looking, more than ever before. Because he was also an idiot, he did not realise this was a product of two things, completely unrelated to his outfit: 1) that living in closer quarters than they ever had before allowed for more chances for the angel to look and, therefore, be caught looking, as it were; and 2) that seeing Crowley being soft with Warlock, which happened at quite a surprising rate, had quite the effect of making Aziraphale unable to look away.[back]

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I just wanted an excuse to write hipster goth Crowley and thirsty Aziraphale. I regret nothing.
> 
> Title is from The Velvet Underground. You know, bebop.


End file.
